


Pause Toilette

by KoreArabin



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bondage, Gags, Humiliation, Infantilism, Licking, M/M, Urination, Watersports
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-16 19:43:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreArabin/pseuds/KoreArabin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You dirty fucking pervert.  You're getting off on this, as usual - eh, Moron?  But let's just see how fucking hard you are when I make you piss yourself.  Into a fucking nappy, tiger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sometimes Sebastian wonders why the fuck he works for Jim Moriarty. Other than that Jim would kill him if he ever tried to leave (doh), and the fact that the kudos of being variously Jim Moriarty’s right hand man, chief of staff, live-in bodyguard, general enforcer, and all round badass motherfucker, is pretty damned cool.

But Jim is such an infuriatingly sadistic little fucker at times, and he knows _exactly_ which of Seb’s buttons to press, every fucking time. Which is another reason Seb knows he enjoys working for Jim Moriarty; because Sebastian has a kinky streak a mile wide in him, and it doesn’t matter what nasty, dirty, raunchy stuff Jim wants to get up to, Seb’s mouth will be watering to do it or have it done to him, and his cock’ll be straining in his trousers quicker than you can say Sherlock fucking Holmes.

Having said that, today’s predicament is a bit left field, even for Jim. 

“How’re you doing under there, Sebby? Reflecting on how not to be such a dirty fucker in future, I hope?”

Seb mumbles in response, as coherently as he can, given that he’s got a fuck off enormous gag stuffed in his mouth.

“Good boy. You sit tight and keep being a good boy, and perhaps in a bit Daddy’ll think about untying you.”

oOo

It was such a stupid fucking inconsequential little thing that started it, but then what’s inconsequential to the vast majority of people is a FUCKING BIG DEAL when it comes to little Irish bastard toerag Jim Moriarty.

Normally in the Gents, they do their business, wash their hands and leave. They don’t feel the need to check out each other’s tackle, exactly, given that they see so very much of each other at home. But, today, for whatever weird, perverted or plain mental reason, Jim was looking at Seb’s cock as he pissed, sighing contentedly as he emptied his rather full bladder into the porcelain urinal.

Giving the old todger a quick shake, Seb was tucking himself back away in his trousers when Jim’s voice cut the quiet of the lavatory like a knife.

“You’ve splashed fucking piss on my fucking shoe, Moran.”

“What? Shit, Jim, sorry. Fuck, let me wipe it off.”

Seb went to grab some hand towels but was stopped in his tracks by an extremely hard slap to the face.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Moran. Do you know how much these shoes cost? They’re fucking Guccis, you twat. You don't rub crappy public convenience hand towels over them. Get down there and fucking clean them. _Now_ , Moran."

Seb isn't sure that he's heard right. "In a public loo? What the fuck, Jim?"

"Don't you what the fuck me, _Moron_. Hands and knees and lick - _now_!"

Seb lowers himself carefully to the tiled floor. Fuck, that's disgusting; on his hands and knees in a public urinal. Fuck knows what previous users have trodden across the floor. Gingerly, he extends his tongue to Jim's gleaming shoe, and quickly licks away the tiny spots of piss besmirching it.

He looks up at Jim for approval, heart thudding in his chest, in apprehension of _how fucking off his rocker angry_ Jim is at him, as well as in anticipation of some punter wandering in and finding him on his knees on the urinal floor.

Jim is white-lipped and tight-faced. "Get the car, Moran. We're going home."


	2. Chapter 2

Jim doesn't look at him or speak to him at all on the journey home. Whenever Seb chances a quick glance in the rearview mirror, Jim is either tapping away on his phone or tablet, or staring vacantly out of the tinted window. 

Seb isn't fooled by the vacant look even for a second. Whatever mask Jim Moriarty may currently be presenting to the world, he is as inimitable as he is unique. The mind behind that pale face and dark eyes is constantly working: calculating, planning, tossing a myriad of variables up in the air and then slotting them, like some spod-tastic genius Tetris champion, perfectly into place to create the most elegantly beautiful solution.

Back at the flat, Jim stalks off to his study, clicking his fingers for Seb to follow. Pouring himself a generous measure of vodka, Jim sits back in his desk chair and flicks the array of work monitors into life. Peering intently at the screen in front of him, he stabs with his right index finger at a keyboard whilst tapping quickly on a calculator with his left.

"Strip."

The command is so soft, so quiet, that Seb at first doesn't quite catch it.

"Don't make me repeat myself, Moran."

Putting two and two together, Sebastian begins methodically to undress, folding each garment neatly and placing them in a pile on a side table, before standing before Jim's desk, embarrassed but with the familiar coil of perverse excitement twisting in the pit of his stomach. Jim continues to ignore him, but somehow that just excites Seb even more. To be naked before someone clothed is one thing, but to also be totally disregarded whilst in that situation is even more humiliating.

_Congratulations, Colonel Moran. You're a sick, perverted fuck._

"Evian. From the fridge - a two litre bottle. And a straw. Fetch."

Sebastian scurries over to the little fridge-freezer Jim keeps stocked with iced vodka, chilled water and ice, retrieving a cold bottle of Evian water, then plucking a garish neon pink drinking straw from the little cupboard above the fridge.

When Seb returns to the desk, there is a pair of handcuffs waiting for him. Where did the sneaky little fucker get them from, and how comes he didn't hear even the slightest chink of metal? 

"Open the bottle, stick the straw in it, then handcuff your wrists behind your back and drink."

Seb does as he's told, placing the bottle on the floor by Jim's desk, and popping the straw into it, before fastening the cuffs over his wrists behind his back. He leans forward, spreading his legs to help him balance, as he begins to suck down the cool water.

Again, Jim ignores him, taking a phone call, then scribbling something which looks, to Sebastian, technical and incomprehensible on a notepad. Seb's swallowed down about a litre of the water, when Jim turns to him, his face still but his eyes blazing.

"Faster, you stupid fuck. I want that bottle finished pronto, _Moron_."

Seb gulps as quickly as he can, but the straw's not long enough to reach to the bottom of the bottle. About a third of it is still full. Jim springs up from his chair, kicking the bottle over.

"Lick that up while I fetch you another, you useless prick."

Seb gags slightly as another two litre Evian bottle is placed before him, but pulls himself up from the floor where he's been slurping up the contents of the previous bottle, and leans down over the new one. His cock is rigid, red and leaking, standing up proud between his spread thighs.

"You dirty fucking pervert. You're getting off on this, as usual - eh, Moron? But let's just see how fucking hard you are when I make you piss yourself. Into a fucking nappy, tiger."


	3. Chapter 3

Sebastian empties the second bottle as best he can, with the aid of a straw. Jim’s tip-tapped off along the hallway again, and so Seb simply settles back on to his haunches and awaits his boss’s return.

When Jim does return, he’s holding a large, fluffy white towel, and the biggest staple gun Seb’s ever seen.

“Where the fuck did you get that from, Boss?”

Jim simply stares at him. “Would you like me to staple your cock to your thigh, Moran? Because you’re really beginning to test my patience now.”

Sebastian shakes his head, mutely, a picture of penitent submission. He knows Jim all too well, and a visit to A&E and the attendant explanations of how exactly he managed to staple his foreskin to his leg are not something he wishes to add to an already trying day.

“Better. Now shift up, tiger; I need to wrap this between your legs.”

Jim works methodically, folding the towel around Seb’s nether regions until it’s arranged in a pretty good approximation of an old-fashioned towelling nappy. Seb cannot prevent himself wincing as Jim then sets to work rather haphazardly stapling the thing into place, gleefully clicking away as the staples sink deeply into the fluffy white material.

Sebastian shifts uncomfortably as Jim looks down upon him, his dark eyes blown bottomless black with arousal, his cock rather noticeably tenting the crotch of his immaculately-fitted suit trousers. Sebastian squirms under the intense gaze of his lover, partly in excitement and arousal at his humiliating position of total submission, partly in the additional mortification at finding his predicament in any way sexually exciting.

“Aaaand – lastly – a nice big dummy for you to suck on. Open up, baby; it’s a lovely fat one to fill up those rosy little chubby cheeks!”

It isn’t a dummy – it’s a thick, stumpy, cock gag – but for all that it does fill Sebastian’s mouth up and puffs his cheeks out nicely. He sucks at it, in what will ultimately be a futile attempt to prevent the saliva already pooling at the edges of his mouth eventually trickling down over his naked torso.

“Now, under the desk with you, and I expect you to be a good little boy and not to hear a peep from you whilst I’m working. Otherwise Daddy is going to be very, very cross with Sebbikins, and Sebby doesn’t want Daddy to have to punish him, does he?”


End file.
